


The Guide to Loving Your Best Friend (abridged version)

by static_abyss



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Best Friends, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 19:16:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9005332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/static_abyss/pseuds/static_abyss
Summary: The ways in which Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski love each other.





	1. By Scott McCall

**Author's Note:**

> Very Happy Holidays to do-what-the-knight-tells-you! May your days be amazing!

**1.** _Find a best friend._

Scott is five years old when he stumbles onto Stiles at the playground. They're both trying to get to the only available swing, running as fast as they can, both of them glancing at each other. Scott is shorter than Stiles and about halfway to the swing, Stiles starts pulling ahead.

“Hey,” Scott says. “No fair.”

Stiles turns back to look at Scott, and both of them are surprised when Stiles trips and lands on his hands and knees. 

Scott makes it to the swing first.

“Hey,” Stiles says. “No fair.”

Scott turns to him, smiles, and hands over the swing.

 

 

 **2.** _Give him everything._

Lydia is beautiful even when she is only thirteen and hasn't yet learned how to put on makeup. She walks with her head held high, her strawberry blonde hair tossed over her shoulder, a kind of quivering courage that catches Scott’s eye. He walks the same way, too. Except he has dark brown hair that gets in his equally dark brown eyes, and he has an asthma pump in his backpack. But their walk is the same, two people doing their best to keep going. Scott has walked this way since his father left and his mom started working double shifts at the hospital.

Stiles’s walk is different. He walks with his shoulders down, his eyes on the floor or on some spot way in front of him that Scott can't always find. He's walked that way since his mom died, sometimes with Scott's hand in his, and sometimes not. But he always perks up when Lydia is around, something about her bringing back some animation into Stiles.

“She's beautiful, Scotty, my man,” Stiles says. “Look at her. Like an angel.”

Scott laughs, a quiet fond sound. “You've been saying the same thing for the last two years.”

“I know,” Stiles says, exaggerating his pouting at Scott. “I know I've said it before, but she's just so pretty.”

“You've changed,” Scott says, shaking his head.

He means it as a joke, but it resonates like truth in a way he can't quite explain. They've both changed, he knows that, but somehow, in this moment, Scott feels as though a distance has opened between him and Stiles. He can't really remember when Stiles stopped reaching for his hand the way he used to for months after his mom died. Or when Stiles started looking at Lydia Martin like she was the only person in the world who could save him.

“I'll talk to her for you,” Scott says. 

“What? No. Yes...I mean,” Stiles blinks. “Will you?”

Scott grins at him. “Of course,” he says. “You're my best friend.”

*

The next day, Lydia Martin stops by their lunch table and says hello. 

“Scott,” Stiles says, when Lydia has moved on. “Scott, I think I love you.”

Scott laughs.

 

 

 **3.** _Then, give him the rest of it, too._

Scott would have fought whatever monster he needed to fight, done whatever he needed to do to get Stiles back. Even if it meant risking his own life. 

He was so relieved when Stiles opened his light brown eyes and looked at Scott, finally himself, finally recognizing Scott. The gratitude towards Deaton, towards all of them for helping, was overwhelming. Scott had wanted to believe that Stiles was back, so he hadn't bothered to look closely. 

Still, the sword in his stomach isn't as surprising as it should be, somehow. 

“Stiles,” Scott says.

He can't quite keep the surprise or the hurt out of his voice. 

“I need it, Scott,” Stiles says. “I need to survive.”

The pain at Scott's side is overwhelming. It pounds in time with his heart, throbbing harder the closer Stiles gets to Scott. 

They're barely inches apart now, and Scott knows that's not Stiles in there. He understands it in a general context, but that's also Stiles, and Scott refuses to believe that Stiles isn't in there somewhere. 

“Okay,” Scott whispers. He doesn't know why he isn't healing. “You can have it.”

Because that is Stiles, and Scott...Scott would do anything for Stiles.

 

 

 **4.** _Ask for nothing in return._

“You don't have to apologize,” Scott says, easing down onto his dark green couch in his living room. 

He can see the broken glass in the kitchen, all the picture frames askew, pieces of wood littering the floor here and there. Scott closes his eyes and tries to sink into the couch cushions. He's started healing now that Stiles is back and there's no nogitsune or sword in Scott's side. He can feel the searing heat as his skin knits back together, and Scott doesn't think he'll ever fully get over the way it feels. 

“Stop thinking so hard,” Scott says. “You're going to hurt yourself.”

He can hear Stiles moving around in front of him, his quiet shuffling as he drags his feet across the floor. There's a moment of silence where the only thing Scott hears is the loud, erratic beating of Stiles’s heart. He frowns.

“Hey--” Scott starts.

But Stiles has sunk down next to him on the couch and is easing both of them down on it. Scott goes, too surprised to do anything as Stiles rearranges their limbs so that they'll be comfortable.

“Sh,” Stiles says, his right hand hovering over Scott’s heart. 

Please, Scott wants to say. Despite everything that's happened in the last week, it's the hot press of Stiles’s hand over his heart that finally tears Scott apart. He doesn't want this. He doesn't deserve it.

 

 

 **5.** _Wait and see if he notices._

It happens like this.

Stiles is laughing, finally, after weeks of quiet and downcast eyes, Stiles is finally laughing. He has his head thrown back, his shoulders shaking as he makes a grab for Scott. 

There's nothing particularly special about the moment. It's one of hundreds, collected ever since they were kids, both of them sitting on Scott’s porch watching the neighbors move around as summer drags by. The sky is a bright blue and the sun is still pleasantly warm. There's a quiet humming in the distance that means Mrs. Taylor from two houses down is going to start singing.

Scott sits with his thigh pressed against Stiles, and doesn't really remember what it was they're laughing about. But he looks at Stiles again and there's suddenly an aching in Scott’s chest. He feels the way his entire face relaxes, even as his heart picks up. It's as though Scott is seeing Stiles for the first time, every line on his face, every freckle, the curve of his nose, the shape of his mouth.

Stiles stops laughing. “What?” he asks Scott.

“Nothing,” Scott says.

 _Notice me_ , his heart whispers.


	2. By Stiles Stilinski

**1.** _Find a best friend._

Stiles doesn't find Scott. 

It's more like Stiles falls flat on his face in a playground full of kids, who will be his future classmates, and then Scott takes pity on him and lets him have the swing. (There's a swing involved).

“Why?” Stiles asks.

Tiny Scott, with his wild hair and huge brown eyes, grins and shrugs. He's missing a front tooth.

“You can have a turn first,” Scott says. “We can share.”

Stiles is an only child raised by a loving mother and father who dote on him. He's got brand new shoes and lots of brown hair, and he hates sharing. 

“No,” Stiles says. “Finders losers. Losers keepers.”

Scott laughs, a tiny tinkling sound full of mirth. His eyes wrinkle with it and his little shoulders shake. 

“Okay,” Scott says. “Finders losers, losers keepers.”

 

 

 **2.** _Love him._

It happens like this.

Lydia Martin walks into the cafeteria, her long strawberry blonde hair tossed over one shoulder, her big eyes kind and fond as they sweep over to Scott. She smiles at him, gently, as though she, too, can't resist the strength of Scott’s person. She walks by, her head held high, even as she softens every part of her expression. 

She's beautiful.

“Hello, Stiles,” she says, as she passes their table.

Her eyes are kind then, too. She smells like fruity perfume and speaks as though she's not leagues above Stiles. Her smile is directed at Stiles, something sweet and different from all the expressions Stiles has ever seen on her face. He tries to memorize it because he knows, even now, this will be it for a long time.

But even as he does, she's turning to walk away, her fingertips just barely brushing Stiles’s shoulder. Stiles’s eyes flicker past her, land on Scott. Scott is watching Lydia, an overly fond expression on his face, something tender and quiet that's brand new. Stiles’s breath catches in his throat, his entire body jolting with his surprise. 

“You like Lydia?” Stiles asks before he can stop himself.

Scott looks back at Stiles, his dark eyes intense. “I wouldn't do that you,” he says. “Never.”

“I didn't mean it like that,” Stiles says.

But he doesn't quite know the way he meant it. All he knows is that there was something about the way Scott looked at Lydia that felt wrong. 

“Not her,” Scott says.

 _No_ , Stiles thinks. _Not her_.

 

 

 **3.** _Love him with all your heart._

Stiles would know Scott anywhere, almost from the moment they met. He knows every sound Scott makes in his sleep, every shift of muscles that signals the beginning of a nightmare. Stiles knows what sounds Scott makes when he's afraid, when he's happy, the quiet breathy way he whispers “yes,” when he wins a game he's been playing for a long time. 

Stiles doesn't need Scott’s alpha roar to come back to him. He doesn't need the way Scott touches him, how Scott's eyes look him over, the way Scott pulls him close. They breathe in sync, have since they were five years old and fighting over a swing. Stiles would claw his way through anything to get back to Scott. 

It's why he keeps fighting, even when his body is out of his control. He struggles and swears that it doesn't matter how long he's fighting, he's never going to stop until he gets back to Scott.

 

 

 **4.** _Every time he gives a piece of himself to protect others, give up a piece of yourself to protect him._

Stiles loves Scott.

This is the simplest truth.

 

 

 **5.** _Don't just notice what he does for you. Say something._

Stiles always notices Scott. He has ever since they were five years old and Stiles moved over on his swing so that Scott could climb on next to him. 

There's nothing special about this day. It's just one of many where Scott sits next to Stiles and Stiles feels it like a hot brand against his side. The sun is warm, but Scott's smile is warmer, the way he closes his eyes to feel the breeze. Stiles fights the urge to lean over and rest his head against Scott’s shoulder the way he always has to. His hands tense and Stiles wishes they were ten again and could hold hands like they used to.

It's not that Stiles thinks Scott would say no. It's just that it would mean something different, now.

“Hey,” Scott says.

They look at each other and this moment should feel like any other moment. But Stiles won't look away and Scott looks so sad.

“I notice you,” Stiles whispers.

And this time, it feels like Scott sees him, too.


End file.
